


Watch the World Go By

by loganhowlett



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loganhowlett/pseuds/loganhowlett
Summary: Steve Rogers is found in the Arctic and decides not to let the world know that he's back.  With the help of Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D., he becomes someone new.  His new job as a forensic artist fills the void left from abandoning the star-spangled superhero persona, but is it really enough?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is a WIP and I am posting it to get a feel for what people might think of it. I don't know how forensic artists really do their job, so sorry if I get stuff wrong!

_Don’t draw attention to yourself. Keep a low profile. Don’t make a scene_.

He’s gotten used to this, walking with his head down with hands in the pockets of his jacket, baseball cap secured on his head. Maybe it was too much. No one should be able to put the pieces together, but it was still a habit that Steve Rogers couldn’t rid himself of.

It had been a year since he’d been found in the Arctic. Nick Fury had told him that he’d been asleep for almost seventy years. People across the world had for decades seen Steve as a hero, as a martyr. Surely the world would go wild over the return of Captain America, according to Fury. But with the jolting shock of being tossed into a completely different time, a completely different world, the last thing Steve wanted was to bear the responsibility of being America’s lost hero brought back, or, well, forward, in time, at least. So, a plan had been set in motion. Only a select few in the highest levels of S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that Captain America had returned. He was given a new name, a new life, a new everything.

“James.” Steve had said when Fury asked him what he wanted his name to be changed to, his voice firm and confident with the decision, though if you were paying attention, you could hear the tiniest break in his pronunciation of the name that once, that still, meant everything to him.

“Middle name?” Fury asked, eyes on the papers in his hand.

“Steven.”

At that, Fury looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “A little obvious, don’t you think?”

“No one pays attention to middle names.”

Fury shrugged, his gaze reverting to the papers he held. “Last name?”

“Grant.”

This time, Fury dropped his hands and the papers to his side in frustration. “Really? Steven and Grant?”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “Do you want me to add the name Roger in there somewhere? I could.”

It almost looked like Fury smiled. “James Steven Grant. You pretty much got three first names.”

“Names that no one would take a second glance at.”

Fury inclined his head in a “guess you’re right” kind of way. “Well, James Grant, welcome to the future.”

Now, a year later, as Steve, or “James Grant”, made his way down the streets of New York, he felt more secure in the future he’d been welcomed to. Things were still confusing. He still preferred a pen and paper as opposed to emails. He’d been this close to writing colleagues’ letters instead, but he knew it would seem weird. However, things weren’t so bad. You could connect with people all over the world in the blink of an eye, you had information in the palm of your hand, and the world just seemed brighter and more colorful than it was before.

He’d gotten a call from work a little earlier telling him that he was needed. The perks of having Nick Fury in your corner was that you could get any job you asked for, and Nick could make it happen. If he was no longer going to be Captain America, one thing he could do to help people was to put his artistic abilities to use as a forensic artist. The career was more useful than sketching a monkey on a unicycle after a failed Cap performance.

Entering the precinct that he’d been called to, he removed the cap from his head, freeing his slightly grown out hair. It wasn’t to his shoulders or anything, but long enough that pieces occasionally fell in front of his eyes. He’d also allowed a clean beard to grow on his face. The more different he looked to the man the world knew, the better.

“Grant!” he heard someone say. Following the voice, he saw Detective Stevens – he found the irony amusing – heading towards him, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey, Elijah.” He greeted him, going in for the usual fist bump.

“Afternoon.” Elijah Stevens greeted in return. “Ready for action?”

Steve pulled the sketchbook from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Sure am.”

A television mounted from the ceiling was in his peripheral, catching his attention. The footage that played showed a man in a dark costume and a mask hiding his face who was busy fighting a plethora of men with large guns, taking them out one by one with ease.

Elijah noticed, turning to look where Steve was eyeing the TV. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but that dude’s pretty sick.” Sick had become a word that meant cool or impressive, Steve had learned.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

Elijah snickered. “Sure, you have. Now, come on. We got jobs to do.”

And that’s how Steve found himself seated in an interrogation room, pencil scratching on paper as a woman described the man who she said abducted her husband. He turned the sketchbook around once he was done, showing it to her.

“Does this resemble the suspect?” Elijah asked her.

She nodded her head, then looked at Steve. “You’re really good at that.”

“James Grant is the best forensic artist in the city.” Elijah said, arms crossed in front of his chest. “He’ll help us find the man who took your husband, Mrs. Brown.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grant.” She said to Steve, then switched her attention to Elijah. “Detective Stevens.”

Steve nodded to her, got up from the table, and left Detective Stevens and Mrs. Brown to finish their discussion on the case. That was all he had been called in for that day. Stepping out into the city, he made his way down the busy street. He had a phone call he needed to make.

The library was quiet, obviously, as Steve browsed the history shelves. He’d missed seventy years’ worth of history and he wanted to be caught up on as much as he could. Finding a book that peaked his interest, he grabbed it and headed towards the checkout desk. He stopped in his tracks as he spotted a woman holding what had to be ten books in her arms, nearly falling over with the weight. Some of the books were not thin.

“Do you need help?” he asked her.

“No, no, I got it. Thanks.” She secured the book on top from slipping with her chin before setting the pile down on the nearest reading table.

“Avid reader?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“What makes you say that?” she asked back, a little out of breath.

This time he did laugh a little. Not too much, it was a library after all. “Wild guess.”

“If I could check out more, I would.” She said, placing her hand on top of the pile with a laughy breath. She pointed to the lone book in his hand. “You more of a one book at a time sort of guy?”

He lifted the book up. “It was the only one that caught my eye.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“It wasn’t just the cover.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, his mouth in a closed but kind smile. “The title too.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Well, it was nice to meet you.” He said, stepping back.

She smiled. “You too.”

Steve’s apartment was comfortable, he had to admit. It was modern but had a sense of the time that he’d grown up in decades before. The walls were dark wood, the stove in the kitchen was as old fashioned as it could get, and if the curtains were closed, he could ignore the city outside and imagine it as it once was. The flat screen TV that had been installed on the wall kind of took the effect away, though. He did have an old record player sitting in the corner, which he liked to play the music of old performers like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong on.

He sat on the couch, book that he’d gotten from the library the day before in hand. The record player softly played All the Things You Are by Tommy Dorsey as he flipped the page over to a new one. His finger began to tap against the page anxiously. Sometimes being cooped up in his apartment made him uneasy. His home was often a sanctuary for him, a place away from the loudness of the modern world, but other times it was a reminder that this comfortable, old fashioned apartment didn’t fully feel like home.

It was so strange that he was living in the same exact city he’d grown up in the previous century, yet it felt like he was on the other side of the world.

Maybe the worst part of it all, though, even past the differences between times, was the loneliness. There were no friends for him to rely on. How could there be? No one could truly know who he was. How could someone put their trust in him when he couldn’t give them all of him? Fury knew who he was, but he wasn’t exactly the “let’s get lunch sometime” type. He wished that there was someone he could tell the truth to, but the thought of baring himself to someone was terrifying.

“James Grant” was meant to live a life alone, so it seemed.


	2. Chapter 2

“He caught ‘em!” Elijah said, nudging Steve’s shoulder for emphasis.

“Who caught who?” Steve asked.

“The Night Soldier caught the guy who took Mrs. Brown’s husband. Found him too.”

Steve was walking when Elijah called him and had stopped, then started walking again. “Night Soldier?”

Elijah took quick steps to keep up with Steve. “Yeah, the dude from the news. The one who can take out like 20 guys all on his own.”

“That’s what they’re calling him now?”

“It suits him, doesn’t it? Dark costume, can’t see his face, all very mysterious. Very Batman-like.”

Steve stopped at the coffee machine and began to pour himself a cup. “Think he’s a millionaire?”

Elijah held out his hands in a I-don’t-know gesture, clearly excited. “He’s got the tech, so maybe.”

“Tech?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, you’ve seen the videos of him fighting. That stuff on his wrist that-“ he was cut off when the sound of his name being called came from across the room. “Oof. Gotta go. Batman’s got us busy now.”

“Thought he was Night Soldier?” Steve called as Elijah jogged away. Elijah did a clumsy shrug in response, still jogging. Steve held his coffee with one hand and tapped his fingers against the cup with the other. Night Soldier. It had a good ring to it. He chuckled into his cup before taking a sip.

When he left work, he stopped by the usual café that he liked to go to. They had the best muffins that he’d ever had. If there was one thing about the future, it was that the food was a lot better than he had been accustomed to. It was when he had left the café and was walking down the sidewalk that he saw a familiar face, the woman he’d met at the library a few days before. She was walking out of a store, bag in hand, and when she glanced in his direction, she didn’t seem to spot him, or recognize him. She turned and began to walk away.

He didn’t know why, maybe it was the longing urge to connect with someone, to make some kind of a friend outside of work, even though he knew it would never work out, that he jogged to catch up with her.

“Hey.” He said, his tone cheerful. He wasn’t in too bad of a mood.

She turned around, looking at him observingly for a second before a look of recognition flashed in her eyes. “Hi!”

He pointed his finger at her, not accusingly. “You’re the bookworm.”

She bowed her head down, chuckling. “Yes. That’s me.”

“Finish them all already?”

She sucked air in through her mouth, her teeth pressed together.

“Not quite. How about you?”

“Got halfway through.”

“Impressive. It was a thick book…about the Berlin Wall?”

“You have a good memory.” He noted. His mind jumped to memories of maps and coordinates that he still could see vividly even today.

She waved off the compliment humbly with one hand, while her other hand lost its grip on the bag she was holding. Steve bent down to retrieve it and felt a stinging pain in his side. Holding his side, he handed the bag to her, who was half bent down, looking at him with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah! Yeah. I um, hit the corner of a dresser at home.”

“Aww.” She said, holding her bag with both hands clasped in front of her.

“It’s okay. I heal fast.” He resisted the urge to touch his side.

“That’s good.” She said.

He looked around at the city that surrounded them. “Do you need a cab or anything?”

“No, thank you. I live pretty close by” she gestured forward, assumingly to where she lived, “so I’m gonna walk.”

“I live that way too. I could walk with you – if you want! I’m not trying to intrude or anything.”

She laughed, easing his awkward rambling. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

They didn’t talk much as they walked along the sidewalk, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes she’d make comments about a bird that they saw or mention that the store they walked by with the pink awning over it was a bakery that she went to at least once a week. She tried asking him questions to get to know him, but he didn’t give her much.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Here.”

“What do you like to do?”

“Not much.”

“Do you have any friends that live close by?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay, then, Mr. Mysterious.” She joked.

Steve laughed, it might have seemed bitter if you were paying enough attention. “I’m not very exciting.”

“You like books.” She said.

He nodded his head once, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “I do. Not as much as you, obviously.”

“I’m glad we know were we stand on book appreciation.” Steve chuckled, bowing his head down. When they stopped walking, they were right across the street from his apartment building.

“This is my place.” She said.

Steve whipped his head in the direction of his apartment building to hers. “No way.”

“What?”

He pointed across the street. “That’s _my_ place.”

Her eyes widened and she looked over his shoulder at his building. “Small world. You know, you never told me your name, Mystery Man.” She switched the bag she was holding from her right hand to her left and stuck her free hand out.

He smiled, his mouth closed. He contemplated a second before reaching towards her, grasping her hand in his in a firm shake. “I’m…James.”

"Well, James,” she said. “It was nice to meet you. Both times.”

His mouth cracked open a little in the smile this time, his teeth peaking through behind his lips. “Nice to meet you too…um…” He inclined his head, indicating to her that he wanted to know her name.

“You get to be all mysterious.” She let go of his hand. “Now’s my chance.”

He laughed. “That’s fair.”

“Have a nice day.” She said, stepping backwards until she turned around, headed up the steps to her building, and disappeared through the door. He looked at the closed door, his mouth in a straight line. His fingers tapped against the inside of his pocket as he crossed the street and went into his building.

When he’d gotten into his apartment, door locked behind him, and jacket shrugged off, anxiety swelled inside him. Maybe going up to her earlier was a bad idea. He’d got caught up in a moment of needing to connect with someone, but he knew that wasn’t a good idea. She lived across the street. What if she wanted to get to know him more? He didn’t fully object the concept itself, but the ramifications of it. He couldn’t provide the friendship she wanted.

Steve shook his head. He didn’t even know if she even wanted to be friends. They’d only met twice. All his thoughts and worries were swirling inside his head, causing him to think way ahead of himself, though with what his life had become, he felt he always had to think ahead.

A thought snapped him to alertness. What if her living across the street wasn’t a coincidence? He shook the thought from his head. His life before laying down the shield still stuck with him. Steve had gotten used to looking over his shoulder, watching his surroundings and analyzing them, and even now, living this new life, he was always worried someone was there, someone who was onto him, who knew who he was. It wasn’t fair to her to drag her into those worries.

Getting into bed that night, mattress so soft that he felt like he’d fall through to the floor with a thud, he found himself missing the security and comfort of being himself, surrounded by loved ones who knew him for who he was, but that luxury had ended long ago.

There were times where Steve didn’t have any inspiration to draw. He’d stare at his open sketchbook, waiting for the sketch to form itself or for a lightbulb to shine above his head. Times like these made him antsy. His hands had to be occupied somehow, or else he’d start thinking.

Other times, however, like now, the ideas flowed out of him, pouring themselves on the paper in the shape of various things, like people he’d seen while he was out walking, different types of animals, and anything else that inspired him. In one sitting, he’d sketched an alley, dingy and shadowed, reminiscent of his friendly run-ins with guys much bigger than him who liked to use him for punching practice, a dock leading out into a still lake, the sun descending into the horizon, and a library decorated with readers, bookshelves, and comfortable couches.

Right now, he was drawing a man donned in a dark costume, mask covering his mouth and nose and opaque glasses covering his eyes, whose arm was drawn back, ready to strike his opponent across the face. A star was across his chest, shining against the darkness.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the picture before him. It almost seemed ridiculous, the drama that oozed off the page.

A ding ran from the phone Fury had given him. One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents helped him figure out how to use it. Steve had to admit, he could have used this back in the day. Would have made things a lot easier. He picked up the phone to read the text from his coworker.

_Elijah S._

_My friend’s throwing a get-together next week. Thought you might be interested. (Please leave your apartment for once, Grant)._

He twisted his lips together in what could pass for a smirk as he read the last sentence. Elijah would call Steve out if he deemed it necessary.

Steve typed a reply.

_Maybe. Thanks for the invite._

Another ding.

_So that’s a no. You must have been so fun in high school._

Steve almost snorted.

 _Thanks anyway_ , he replied.

Get-togethers were never Steve’s thing. Either they took place in his smaller, more frail and sickly days, where no one took notice to him and left him sitting by himself, or soon after the serum and the shield, (and the musical numbers), where everyone wanted a picture with him. He wondered if he were to accept Elijah’s offer, would his experience land somewhere in the middle, where people talked to him a normal amount, not giving him too much attention, but not full out ignoring him either? The thought of having to stand in a room with people he didn’t know and engage in conversation made him feel uneasy. Besides his tendency to shy away from most people nowadays, there was always a nagging in his mind that worried him he’d say too much, and his identity would be exposed.

Once again, that familiar longing filled Steve, the longing for at least someone that he could share his identity with. Longing was annoying, Steve had decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so idk if there's anyone in the superhero world named Night Soldier but there is one in this fic!!! i feel like this is kinda boring but i'm gonna try to get to writing some more interesting stuff!! thank you for reading <3


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